


Windows Without Glass

by Yahtzee



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Movie(s), Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles would have met Nina, someday. Erik would have made sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windows Without Glass

 

"Her name was Nina." Erik sits by the open window of the mansion. The replacement panes of glass haven't been shipped yet, so the night wind blows through the hallways, stirring breezes, whispering around every corner. "You know that, of course. But I wanted to tell you. I imagined that so often—telling you."

"I wish you had. I'd have been so happy for you." Charles lies on the medical gurney that's currently serving as his bed. His nerves still burn with remembered pain. He imagines it like the glowing grooves in Apocalypse's pyramid—unearthly heat snaking upward in twisting lines. But the lingering discomfort in his body is nothing compare to the anguish within Erik. "I wish I could have met Nina."

"You would have, one day." Erik's face is a silhouette against the bright moonlight. "When the time came, I would've sent her to you."

Charles has glimpsed Nina within Erik's mind. He envisions that dark-haired girl standing on the steps of his school, the birds swirling overhead like confetti from a celebration. For all the anger between him and Erik—for all the lost chances and heartbreak that will forever darken their bond—Charles knows he would've reacted to the arrival of Erik's child with nothing but the deepest joy.

Erik continues, "Sometimes I've mocked your ambitions for the school. But what you've done here, creating a place where we can be with our own kind, where children learn to embrace their gifts—we need that. This place is special, Charles. And it's all thanks to you."

"Thank you," Charles says simply. He considers the school almost as much Erik's creation as his own, but he's the one who brought it back to life this past decade, who built it into what it has become. Even now, the students are camping out in the newly rebuilt but empty rooms, whispering to each other from their sleeping bags. Hank and Raven are talking to each other on the front stoop, trying to pretend they don't wish they were kissing instead. Nightcrawler is having a dream about the circus. Charles' consciousness brushes past all of them, just to know they're safe.

Erik murmurs, "At night, when I would think of her future and be afraid, I would tell myself, 'Charles will be her teacher, and her protector. Charles will make sure she's all right.'"

"I would have." Charles feels his throat tightening. "I shouldn't have withdrawn so. I should have kept reaching out—"

"I was the one who told you to stop." Erik leans the side of his head against the empty window frame. "You respected my wishes. Don't blame yourself for that."

Erik's guilt seems to Charles to be woven into the wind in the room, circling invisibly around them both. "Erik, you mustn't blame yourself either."

The only answer is a shrug. Silence falls between them, painful but not awkward. They both need to gather themselves before they speak any more of their last parting.

Within days of the incident in D.C., Erik had laid aside his helmet forever. Charles perceived this almost instantly, as an image of the helmet floating down to the bottom of the ocean until it was swallowed by water and darkness. He doesn't know if that's literally how Erik disposed of the thing; it hardly matters. All he knew then was that Erik no longer wanted to lock Charles out. That Erik's bruised spirit sought his. That even if Erik would never return to Westchester, the connection between them endured.

For two years, Charles had visited Erik—in visions, in whispers, even in dreams. They talked for hours on end. They bickered. They even played chess.

And they made love.

Sex without bodies is much more enjoyable than "the real thing," though Charles no longer thinks physical contact is what makes sex real or not real. There are people who writhe together in bed for hours without ever truly touching each other's spirits, or awakening anything other than the most rote, automatic forms of pleasure. In the mind, however, intimacy itself is what kindles physical ecstasy. Emotion stimulates in ways mere hands and tongues never could. Nor does the body's weakness get in the way—sometimes the two of them would linger at the point of orgasm for hours.

But Charles came to realize that he wasn't spending enough time on the school curriculum. That his friendships, especially with Hank, had begun to suffer because he no longer prioritized them. That all of his emotional energy was given to Erik alone.

Erik had come to similar realizations. He had yet to make one new friend in Poland. Was showing up late for work because he'd spent the entire night entangled in Charles' mind.

 _We can have each other_ , he'd said to Charles one night, _or we can have our own lives. We can't have both._

Charles always hated it when Erik was right.

"I looked in on you a few times that first year, with Cerebro," he confesses. "I saw you with friends—and, once, with Magda. I think I knew she was your wife just from that, just from what you held in your heart for her. But I quit looking in on you too soon. I never saw Nina."

Not as Erik's daughter, anyway. He probably glimpsed her as another of the countless mutant minds he perceived, one red shining light within Cerebro's glittering dome. If only he had looked a little closer.

"Did it hurt you, seeing that I was married?" Erik says. "Or were you happy for me?"

"Both, to an incredible degree. But I was happier than I was hurt."

"Really?"

Charles nods. The small motion sends pain echoing through his nerves again, and the cool breeze through the window seems to sharpen against his skin. "I felt the depth of your contentment and joy. I would never begrudge you that, old friend. I only wish it had not been taken from you."

"Magda—" Erik's voice chokes off. "She always looked for the best in everyone. She even found it in me. Just like you, Charles."

Except that she was able to give Erik the peaceful, rewarding life Charles never could. Charles isn't jealous; he simply longs for the lost chance to meet Magda. He would have thanked her for loving Erik, for giving him so much. For fulfilling all the hopes Charles had ever had for his friend…

…but for too brief a time.

"Would it help you to say goodbye to them?" Charles says softly.

"You mean, you'd create one of your illusions. Make it seem as though they were standing here with us."

"I could absent myself." Charles would of course have to continue to project that illusion, but he could ensure Erik was only minimally aware of his presence. "It would just be the three of you—"

"No." Erik turns away from the window at last. "It would only be me, alone. No point in pretending otherwise."

"As you wish."

Erik steps closer to Charles' gurney. The wind stirs his short hair, flutters the pale green sheet pulled up to Charles' waist. His hand is warm against Charles' scalp, upon his cheek. "You're still hurting?"

"It's getting better."

"That's a yes."

Charles can't help smiling. "Yes. But it's not so bad any longer. I think I might actually get some real sleep tonight."

Erik frowns. "You haven't been sleeping well?"

The only answer Charles can give is a shrug.

"Is that because you're in pain?" Erik's expression falters. "Or because what happened to you in Egypt was so—"

 _Traumatic? Terrifying?_ Charles doesn't want to put words to it, except the best word of all: _Over_. "Probably a bit of both."

"I ought to have turned against him the first moment he went after you—"

"Erik. Your mind wasn't entirely your own." Apocalypse's psychic powers, while no match for Charles', were considerable. He'd been able to warp the consciousness of each of his Four Horsemen, leaving them little of their own minds and hearts left to work with. Psylocke and Angel had been enduring such desperation that they could not resist him; Ororo's deep need for a mutant hero and protector had overcome what little free will she'd had remaining.

And Erik had been so stricken by grief and fury—so pitifully undone—that almost anyone could have overcome him. To Apocalypse it would have been the work of an instant.

In the end, however, Erik had summoned the will to return to Charles' side. They became a team again. United. Nothing else matters.

"How can I make it up to you?" Erik whispers.

_Come back to the school. Stay here with us. There's more than one way to lead a good life; let me show you another._

But he knows better than to plead for the impossible. Charles says only, "Help me sleep tonight."

The raised eyebrow Erik gives him is more joke than seduction. "The way we used to do it? I doubt either of us could manage tonight, old friend."

Charles smiles. "You know I didn't mean that." Probably they _will_ make love again someday—they are still open to each other in ways they will never be to anyone else—but Erik's grief is too raw, too new. And that's not the kind of comfort Charles needs. "I just meant, stay here."

There's only one other piece of furniture in the room so far, a threadbare couch from the old gardener's cottage. Charles had thought Erik could possibly spend the night on that comfortably enough, if he bent his knees. Instead, Erik eases himself onto the gurney with Charles; there's just enough room for them to lie together. Charles shifts onto his side so that Erik can spoon behind his back, and when Erik's arm curls around his waist, it feels natural. As though Erik had never left.

In silence, they drift into the dark. Charles tethers his consciousness to Erik's just enough that they'll be able to follow into each other's dreams. Soon they're together beneath the stars, watching a dark-haired little girl run across the school grounds. Her laughter rings out as fireflies glitter and swirl around them, a thousand golden points of light that shine all night long.


End file.
